Porcelain Ghost
by BlackMirror6
Summary: Chap. 3 to Ill Favored Fate.Aragorn and his company are forced to cease the search for Legolas as they prepare for the final battle for Middle Earth, the battle at Mordor...meanwhile, a ghost speaks to a sleeping Legolas who is at the brink of death.


Porcelain Ghost

The night was as dark as an Ork's heart, this a most scornful night as it held sore hearts and wet eyes as hope and life dwindled away with its coming. The day before was one of which none would forget, whether they knew the Elf or no. Memories of the battle's victory held permanent within all hearts whose holders had been upon it, those large or small in stature. As the moon's reign overtook the sun's, clouds lingered not in sky but in mind.

Aragorn. King to the throne of Gondor. One so high in stature and thought to be of the soundest and strongest mind held the most doubt amongst them all. His heart was so heavy he could barely stand under its weight. He stood in the halls of his palace, having lost the mind to wander and stared to the ground. Upon the stone tiles Aragorn's eyes were cheated by visions of elves of whom he loved. Aragorn had seen Sauron's vision of Arwen lying dead on her bed earlier that night, and with this to add to the sufferings of his visions of Legolas, Aragorn could take no more. Hot tears slid down the Ranger's face and stained his cheeks, woes of the fairest immortals reaching him and weakening him.

The visions of Legolas danced with strife through the man's glass mind. Legolas was so proud, so beautiful…any creature would give up his sight to the gods to have his spirit, his valor, his undying grace, for they knew they would never again look upon a more magnificent sight. Yet it seemed few possessed that tranquility. Those evils on the side of Sauron and Sauroman would have given their sight to have Legolas murdered in a most torturous death.

Then came the beast and wretched driver upon the Elf to slaughter. Trampling friend and foe alike, they found him. The gods themselves wept as the monster defiled Legolas to so close a grave. Time stood still as Legolas was helplessly lost and crashed upon the cruel ground. He was lost when the enemy shot him and speared him, but mostly he was lost when the Oliphant fell upon him.

Aragorn tortured his mind with these repeating visions until he could take no more.

He fell with his tears to the cold floor and wept softly while getting no comfort from the stone tiles which his heart was quickly coming to match. He held so many questions within his tearing mind, so much heart ache the soon-to-be King of Gondor would soon carve his own just to make the pain of it go away.

"Why couldn't I have seen it sooner…why couldn't I drive through those beasts to aide him…" He asked his doubt why it was so low and not heavier upon his shoulders. In his heart he knew truly there was little more than he had done that he could've. Yet, his soul and mind wouldn't let him be comforted.

Ahead of him heavy and sluggish placed steps of one familiar being marched in solace towards the fallen man. With a gruff approach came a gruff voice.

"And whose tears are these?" Gimli approached Aragorn with a light soul and a hope for council to his self-crumbling friend. "Certainly not those of the strongest Captain and King of one great land as this; one of such a grand army as that which has joined his side so freely. No, these tears cannot be of such a man and so they cannot truly exist…" Gimli gave a weak and tattered smile to Aragorn.

"These are the tears of a guilty mind. Of one who has doomed one of his dearest and so loved friends; these are the tears of a man, a King, who has failed." Aragorn said in the deepest of sadness. Gimli let out a troubled sigh, a sigh which silently spoke of determination to heal his friend's heart.

"Lad…there are worse things to hap upon an Elf than death. But, do not be weary of him; I know he is living…and so do you. Your heart is in such pain because you know he is alive. If he were dead it would be as numb as an Ork's." Gimli said soothingly, yet firmly. He watched Aragorn shake his head in disagreement.

The Ranger felt heavier. "Don't tell me what I would feel…don't say that there are worse things than dying because of a friend's betrayal…" Aragorn snapped harshly. He brought up his head to show a mournful scowl to the Dwarf, making even the stern Gimli to back away as Aragorn quickly stood.

"It is my fault. _Mine_. There is _nothing _that you can do or say that will make this situation better, so don't try. Just leave me alone to my misery. Go home, Gimli…your services are no longer needed." Aragorn refrained from lifting his voice but it was so cruel it held a worse effect than if he had screamed in Gimli's face.

As Aragorn marched away Gimli stood still as a shadow. His blood was scorched and his mind frozen to Aragorn's attack. He felt a similar heaviness to his heart when his friend told him to leave, that he was not needed. It was terrifyingly painful and being a Dwarf, it only made it worse. He was too proud, too head strong to feel such emotional pain. Yet here it was, tearing his soul in half.

Yet he did not cry. He did not weep for himself or his friends. As a Dwarf, Gimli was sworn never to cry for an Elf, but…it was different now. So why didn't he? Why were his eyes so dry? His stubbornness built up too greatly. He couldn't do it. And that made the pain even worse, not to be able to mourn for your dear friend, Elf or not.

In his desolation Gimli marched off to his designated room. His eyes were red and dark as his soul then…

Hours passed since Aragorn and Gimli's meeting in the halls, and neither had spoken a word to the other until finally they were summoned to a meeting held by Gandalf.

"It is no easy task to forget, but in order to press on we must be strong. Legolas was a champion among Elves and man, and the dearest friend anyone could be so lucky as to have. His death shall not be in vain, however—"

"He's not dead!"

The youngest Hobbit shouted in anger at Gandalf. Pippin looked in rage to the Wizard as his eyes reflected his suffering soul. Tears blinded and burned his eyes as they streamed down his small cheeks.

"You never found him! You have no proof of his death!" Pippin cried.

"Hush, Pip…" Merry consoled his younger cousin as best he could, hugging him and trying to settle him down enough for the rest of the group to finish their meeting. Pippin only clung to Merry and wept more, his whimpers becoming fainter with the moments.

Gandalf cleared his throat to begin again. He didn't want to believe Legolas was dead, and Pippin did bring about a valid point…still, what was he to think? The wise wizard could feel his emotions burry as he regained his sturdy poise.

"Sauron has lost the battles, now let him loose the war...we must give Frodo and Sam time, and we must also defeat the last of his hope for conquer. We will attack…"

As Gandalf lectured Gimli sat in the throne to smoke his pipe, giving a glance to Aragorn. The Ranger lean against a stone pillar and stared at the ground for most of the time, though caught Gimli's glance at the corner of his eye. The two held no bad blood, merely frustration between them. All knew it and hoped they would not loose one another as they had so early lost Legolas…

In the midst of the night and over the graveyard that was Pelnor fields lay Legolas. The mountain of enemy bodies blanketed his figure, while light still lingered in his eyes. As his sapphire eyes opened to his mind Legolas found relieved of his broken body. Silence deafened his ears as the bright light nearly blinded his eyes. He didn't know if he was standing or laying, as he could not feel his body.

Was he dead? Or was he so heavily broken that he was paralyzed? Or…

These thoughts crossed his mind softly; these and more. He couldn't remember what had happened, he didn't know where he was. It was a miracle he even knew who _he _was. Then he heard a light voice enter his mind that was not his own.

"_Awaken, Prince of Mirkwood. Your task is not yet finished._"

"Who is this…who speaks…" Legolas asked weakly. He could feel himself slipping further from the unfamiliarity of his own body, as if he were but his soul drifting through the living plane to that of the dead.

The voice was a whisper, but sang so beautifully that it did not frighten Legolas to not know from whence it came. It was so…familiar…

"_Stray from the light, from the numb balance of death. Go back, Legolas._ _You have one last fight in you; he needs your help. They all need you…_"

It sounded so familiar…so peaceful. Legolas felt as if in a dream which he yearned not to wake from. He held faint memory of pain that was left behind, of a body that was almost of no use to him as a vessel. He tried to forget it, tried to look ahead of him. The memory of the pain was also being lost with the memory of who he was, of what he was sent along the fellowship to do…he was forgetting his promise and his friends…

"Who needs me? What am I supposed to do? I'm too broken…so tired. I can't go back...I'm sorry…" Legolas shut his eyes, but it made neither the light nor the voice fade away.

Aragorn and his faithful company rode towards Mordor for the last battle in the war for Middle Earth. The ride was silent even to their breath for fear would allow no unbreaking word. The soldiers all mounted upon their horses they rode tall to their final destination, on to victory or defeat as this one battle would show. Most of all, it would give Frodo the time he so desperately needed to destroy the ring.

Aragorn led them, Gandalf to one side and the ever faithful Gimli at his other. The two Hobbits ride with the Wizard and Dwarf. Even now they were ready to help, their travels making them braver than they had ever remembered being. Glancing at one another they made assuring smiles that they would see the Shire once more. After all, it's what they were fighting for.

As they reached the black gate they stopped. Their breath was icy and still as fear mourned upon them. But still they stayed. They were loyal to Aragorn for he had led them well, and never gave up hope.

As Sauron's army marched to meet the coming challengers the sounds of their footsteps scorned in the allied ears. The steps of the Orks' matched the pounding of the Gondor soldiers' hearts, of the Hobbits' hearts. They held a fear that they knew their foes did not. How could they beat such an army?

Aragorn gave his speech, assuring them that they could fight, that they could win if they stood together. It made the soldiers' hearts ever more strong. Aragorn's strength gave them strength, enough to stand their ground and not flee.

The gates opened and the army of Mordor revealed their vile selves. Shields up, weapons at the ready, they were eager to slaughter. The men of Gondor stood firm and awaited the order to charge.

Tension thickened around the two sides as one could almost hear the blood boiling, feel the murderous gaze of each side to the other. Orks and Uroh-Kai growled intimidating threats, bearing teeth that begged for human flesh. Tightened grip to weapons and shields made not due to fear but to eagerness. The sight of their hidiousness made spines shiver and hair stand on end as their appearance let any onlooker know what would doom them… They wanted blood.

Man, Hobbit, and Dwarf alike pierced through their souls to the soulless of the enemy. They stood proud and ready to make the ugly curse of Middle Earth vanished of their beautiful lands. Their weapons clenched, they waited. This was it. This was the last battle.

Finally the ring for attack came and each charged the other. Aragorn called for it as he charged the enemy and soon his band of soldiers followed, with the two Hobbits at the head until outrun. Screaming bodies crashed together as swords were struck and bodies slain.

Gondor's finest were outnumbered, true, but that was last in their minds as they laid waste to the grotesque threat. There was not a weak member among them, not even the small hearts of Merry and Pippin. If anything, the two Hobbits fought with the most bravery. Fell beasts flew above them to aide their comrades, though nigh an Ork or Urok knew the meaning of the word. With mind shattering screeches they dived unto the rebel forces and stole many from the rest of their band. Were but a decent shooter among them few of the attacking creatures would be of a success, however the fighters consisted of but sword and spear wielders.

Trolls lay waste to the land, one in particular holding sight to a powerful human swordsman.

Aragorn shunned the life of every enemy to cross his path as the Hobbits stay near. He protected them along with his brethren. But he was growing tired. There was no time for rest, for if one did they rested for eternity.

The troll stomped towards Aragorn swinging his mace at those in his path until finally he reached the fighter. Without warning the fowl creature beat his weapon to Aragorn's back and sent him to the ground. Aragorn grimaced and shouted in pain as the strike made his breath thin and his sword lost from his grasp. As quickly as he could Aragorn shot around onto his back in time to see the creature stomp a foot on his chest, causing another anguished cry to escape the warrior's throat.

Gritting his teeth Aragorn struck a knife into the beasts burdening foot, causing only anger to it, not relief to the Ranger. In a shout of anger and pain the troll swung his mace at his side, striking those unlucky enough to be in its path.

Upon the screams Gandalf shot down another Ork and looked to his friend's plight. He despaired, being too buried in Ork scum to be of any help. They came at him one after another, leaving the wizard to his staff and sword as his only protection. He was trapped to fight and not come to Aragorn's aid. Gimli also was too engulfed in the destruction of the enemy to notice Aragorn's peril.

The troll stroked his mace up as he looked at Aragorn in its own manner of disgust. The Hobbits had been nearby the downswing of the weapon and lay bruised and pitiful away from Aragorn. More of no help to him.

The mace swung swiftly and brutally down upon Aragorn. A sickening sound bellowed from both the ogre and from beneath his weapon. Aragorn had been killed, struck down by a monster he hadn't seen coming, a monster he had been too tired to defend himself from…

"Aragorn!" Legolas screamed to his throat's pain as he watched the vision pass. Legolas' eyes widened as a faint heartbeat started to pound in his ears. He had remembered his friend, his promise.

"It can't end like that! Tell me it hasn't happened!" The Elf demanded.

"_It is what shall come to pass. Unless you live, dear Legolas. Turn away from the painless mercy of death and go back to Middle Earth before it is too late; change Aragorn's fate. Live…_"

The beautiful face of Lady Galadriel shone in brilliance to Legolas at last. It was she who spoke to him, she who told him to live.

With her warning eyes Legolas woke, gasping air into his desperate lungs. He screamed in the pain of his body, growling in his throat as soon as he came back to life. A heavy grunt made its way through his clenched teeth as Legolas moved the heavy bodies from his own, wincing angrily at his wounds. His blood was spilt everywhere, the arrows and spear were still imbedded in him, but he paid no heed to them. He removed them as he weakly ran, stumbling over the ground in search of anyone alive who would help him. He clung to life as he crutched himself to the city...


End file.
